


do you still remember me (forget-me-not)

by kingslayer (amurgin)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Getting Together, Holidays, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27998679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amurgin/pseuds/kingslayer
Summary: As in every other facet of Sylvain's cheap attempt at living, Felix became the exception. A loophole he could never find the strength within himself to tie off and just be done with. Felix begged recognition, begged to have all of Sylvain without any question—the good and the bad; the better and the worst.Blanketing Felix’s sleeping figure in the warm amber of his eyes, Sylvain thinks he’s finally found it: a real family.While Felix sleeps, Sylvain dreams. They both remember meeting once again, so long ago, in that place where sun and moon overlap and become one in an eclipse of light and shadow.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48
Collections: Sylvix Advent Calendar





	do you still remember me (forget-me-not)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 13 of the [Sylvix Advent Calendar](https://twitter.com/SylvixCalendar)! Do make sure to check out the other lovely writers and artists participating in the event ;u;

If it is not by way of love that he first comes into the world, it only stands to reason that Sylvain will not leave this earth loved. That much, he is certain of. 

His parents had always made a mockery of the concept of _family_. Bound only in blood and name, there’d been no love lost between them, them and their children. Call it whatever you will instead—an arrangement; a transaction; _body politics;_ anything except for "family".

To this day, Sylvain still hasn’t escaped his name, but his blood? He’d spilled plenty of that (aided, with great enthusiasm, by his brother). There’s no use in pretending that the war didn’t also help. So much of him left behind in the trenches, buried in the mud. 

Eventually, his father finally croaked (good riddance!) by some Goddess-given miracle. As for Sylvain’s mother, she withdrew into seclusion, haunting the halls of the Gautier estate with her dying breath. It is only her ashen face, her sunken skin and hollow cheeks that Sylvain still remembers, just the way she’d been found. Days passed before they’d realized, the stench of her rotting body the only telltale sign of her passing. 

That, too, had been its own blessing. 

But neither of them hurried to die, much to Sylvain’s detriment. They took their time stripping the love off their youngest son, leaving him with nothing other than the skin of his back and a whole lot of baggage underneath.

 _There is no romance in marriage_ , his father told him once, _only blood._ There’d been something else about _a wife,_ a good _woman_ , at which Sylvain would proudly snort if his father were here to see him today. Back then, however, he’d taken it to heart, filling the void with those empty words. 

Years left Sylvain in the dust this way, without affording him the luxury of love. Except for once. 

As in every other facet of Sylvain's cheap attempt at living, Felix became the exception. A loophole he could never find the strength within himself to tie off and just be done with. Felix _begged_ recognition, begged to have all of Sylvain without any question—the good and the bad; the better and the worst. 

Blanketing Felix’s sleeping figure in the warm amber of his eyes, Sylvain thinks he’s finally found it: a real family. 

It would be an unspeakable cruelty to wake him up, _now_ , as the soothing lullaby of his own breathing betrays Felix’s loveliness. With each exhale, Sylvain swears he can hear a deep rumbling at the back of his throat. _A purr_ , if you will. He entertains the idea a little further than he’s sure Felix would like him to, letting his fingers wade through rivers of dark cobalt, soothing movements that elicit soft murmurs from his husband. 

Consumed by love, Sylvain’s caresses grow bolder, more daring, though he doesn’t notice. His heart goes out to the way Felix curls closer into his touch, how his eyelashes shiver breathlessly, eyelids trembling beneath the heavy weight of slumber, and— _oh,_ how is Sylvain meant to resist the beckon of that rosy skin or those most-sweet lips, so puffy with sleep. 

"Sylvain…" The low rumble of a voice sinks into the pulse beneath his jugular, coursing through his veins like flames before finding a home between Sylvain’s lungs. His heart leaps inside his chest, does this funny little thing that cuts the flow of air. Cruel temptation, he wants to touch more, to see more, to _feel_ more of Felix beneath his fingertips; everything he has to offer, all for Sylvain.

Surely, he can snatch _one_ kiss without getting caught. 

But before Sylvain can make up his mind, Felix decides in his stead. He rustles awake, pulling himself up on shaky elbows as the covers slip around him, falling like autumn leaves off his bony shoulders. With great difficulty, he opens his eyes, searching for Sylvain within the blackness of midnight, between shadows darkening against the walls, where the silver glow of the moon catches onto his face in a glimmer. 

“ _Mhm_.” When he finds him, Felix pats Sylvain gently, sketching out the shape of his jaw before winding his arms gently around his neck. He doesn't say anything else, but his body _does_ melt into the hollow of Sylvain’s embrace, taking the shape of him with practiced ease. There is no battle, nothing left to be conquered, just the quiet lull of occupying a space Felix knows belongs only to him.

“Yes, _Fe_?” 

"Happy Holidays." His voice rolls off the hard lines of Sylvain’s throat as the muscles flex under a heavy breath he swallows back. It’s as though he’s forgotten how to breathe entirely. 

" _Oh_ , you remembered?" Sylvain nuzzles his face inside Felix’s cheek, the short, sharp hairs coming in hot against the skin there, and though Felix squirms a little, it's subtle. Before long, he's surrendering himself back to Sylvain's grasp. A little prickly at the first touch, but soft thereafter, just like Felix. The stubble suits Sylvain, the way his husband does, and Felix lets him know as much. He runs the blade of his thumb across the bristles, enjoying the small sting that follows. 

"Of course I did." Words of a Felix of old, words Sylvain has heard time and time again over the many years they’ve spent together, but the keen bark that used to accompany them has been tamed into the kitten’s purr Sylvain’s been doting over all night. “It’s important to you.”

Before him, Sylvain hums a little sound of pleasure, melting to the spot beneath Felix's touch, unable to shake off the fond feeling buried in his gut when Felix (conveniently, so) resorts to his more feline instincts. 

“You’re the _most_ important to me.” Pulling away, Sylvain fixes his husband with the fondness that underlies his voice, tone tender while a hand comes up to cup Felix’s face. _“_ None of this matters without you.”

“That’s not—That isn’t true.” Felix shrinks beneath him. By now, they’ve spent what must be a lifetime together, and though Sylvain isn’t sure Felix will ever get used to the honesty of his love, it doesn’t bother him. He’ll say it as many times as it takes, and, one day, Felix _will_ believe him. 

“But it is.” 

In response, Felix allows the silence to sit between them, choosing to blink his eyes away. His stare gets redirected to the corner of one of their pillowcases, and he gives it his all tracing out the design embroidered there in gold: the Crest of Fraldarius. Even without looking, Sylvain knows there is a matching one on his own pillow. A wedding gift from Mercedes, full of intentions pure, despite his hatred for that most-wicked thing. 

As if sensing the turn in Sylvain’s thoughts, Felix is quick to change the subject, though not particularly well. 

"What do you want this year? As a gift?" 

_How blunt._ Felix asks him every holiday. Same question. Same flush rising in pulses all the way to his ears. It isn’t as though he doesn’t know. Sylvain’s answer has been the same each time.

"You." The gentle murmur of his voice gives rise to a laugh from Felix, a small sound that, had it not been the dead of night, would have surely gone unnoticed by anybody other than Sylvain. After a couple of decades of pining (no big deal, _really_ ), it’s his merit that he gets to indulge in these glimpses of Felix nobody else has ever seen. 

"How about something you don't already have?"

" _My_ , feeling generous, _Duke Fraldarius_?" Felix makes an exasperated noise, his eyes just a little off from rolling all the way back into his head when Sylvain presses close, the ghost of his breath shadowing the curve of Felix’s lips. 

"Don't overstep, Gautier." He paws at his husband’s face, careful even as he kneads a little into Sylvain’s warm cheeks, entranced, for an instant, by how squishy they’ve become in their later years. 

“When have I ever?” One kiss, two kisses, three, four, five; Sylvain rains quiet summer showers over Felix’s face, the pecks bursting with heat across his skin. Each one is a little louder than the last, a little more forceful, more obnoxious, until Felix is clawing at Sylvain to _get off._ The onslaught finally dies down on the booming notes of his laughter, but Sylvain refuses to let go, keeping as close to Felix as he can without getting his face bitten. 

“I can think of a few times.” Felix states matter-of-factly. 

“ _Wha_ — _Fe,_ I would _never.”_

“Right.” 

“Fine. Once, maybe twice.”

Even without the exasperation of his younger self, he still can’t resist rolling his eyes. Sylvain has that effect on Felix, now as much as back then. Remembering all the times he's stepped over Felix's tail is comically easy, but one instance stands out in particular.

Following the war, they promise to meet at least once a year, and, after a while, getting together in anticipation of Dimitri’s birthday becomes tradition. For a few days at the end of each Ethereal Moon, Felix is supposed to breathe a little easier. That was the plan, anyway. 

What he gets instead is one big headache. 

Much to Felix’s chagrin, though by no means unexpected, Sylvain arrives in Fhirdiad a day later than agreed. Mounted atop a steed as lustrous as obsidian, Sylvain brings with him the fire of a morning sun. Light licks down wisps of hair styled messily, setting each lock ablaze atop his head, halo of flames engulfing him. Like that, Sylvain radiates divinity. His presence, _alone_ , commands much more than he deserves, but even Felix has to admit he feels compelled by forces unseen to surrender everything at the altar of this man’s feet. 

The sight of him, all regal and noble, reminds Felix of their days on the battlefield. Sylvain's grip is steady on the reins as he rides the horse deeper into the castle’s courtyard, spine pulled taut like the string of a bow. Narrow eyes sweep over the horizons, a testament to just how self-assured he remains during these more peaceful years of his life. Unlike back then, however, Sylvain has foregone the lengthy foreplay of his dark knight's armour. 

Taking him in, Felix rolls his eyes, a habit hardwired into the very marrow of his being by long years spent (in exasperation) at Sylvain’s side. Yet, as much as he tries to deny his embarrassing attraction to the sensual metallurgy of a well-crafted suit of armour, Felix cannot bite back his disappointment. He won’t refute that Sylvain is— _always has been_ —a handsome man. It is an unfortunate fact that Felix counts himself another number in his monstrous body count. But he _does_ miss the coolness of iron on his skin, the burn of leather straps as he rips the buckles of Sylvain’s belts open, leaving each piece to clatter loudly as it falls to the ground—

At that, he must digress. 

With an inconspicuous swipe of his hands, Felix rubs away the flush painted across his face, looking away though not fully ignoring the ensuing commotion. A few balconies over, a gaggle of young maidens crowd over the balustrade, pushing and shoving at each other with their elbows and knees. Each holds a wicker basket stuffed full and brimming with the petals of various flowers—pink camellias for longing; white carnations stained by love and luck; and forget-me-nots for, _well,_ even Felix can figure that one out. 

Below them, Sylvain strides confidently towards the gates, sparing no regard for his surroundings or their circumstance. Instead, his attention is narrowed down and focused on the stableboy rushing over to greet him. Still, his concentration is quickly torn asunder by a chorus of shrieks so shrill Felix physically recoils. He winces, as though pricked by an arrow, ears ringing with the echo lingering behind.

“Margrave Gautier!” A girl flags him down with the wave of her handkerchief, soft silk riding the wave of a gentle breeze. “Over here!”

“No, look over _here!”_ Another bats her lashes, hips cocked to the side in temptation. 

All the while, they rain down upon Sylvain a spring’s tempest. Colours mix together in a beautiful bouquet, cascading over him an entire garden’s worth of flowers. They settle delicately all around him, painting the icy cobblestone beneath into a stunning tableau—Sylvain at its center. A procession unlike any other, he takes the view in for an instant, then tipping his head back to look above.

“If I had known Fhirdiad would welcome me so passionately, I’d have returned sooner.” His laughter rings out clear in the silence of the girls’ expectation. Seconds later, they’re set off into a fit of giggles and squeals until, suddenly, the bony extremities of their bodies are pulled back out and they’re shoving each other out of the way of Sylvain’s stunning smile.

“Ladies, _please.”_ He holds his hands out, entreating them to a ceasefire with the mercy of a smile most-warm. “There’s plenty of Sylvain to go around.” Once more, they’re both silenced and ignited by a dazzling wink, one that makes Felix gag. 

He’s lost track of how many laps his eyes have circled inside his sockets, but he rolls them again. As if audible, the sounds of his vexation draw Sylvain’s notice to Felix, who stiffens instantly. When he’d chosen to pace the empty hallways of the royal palace, the last thing Felix accounted for was getting caught staring at Sylvain by the devil himself. Now that it’s happened, Felix dismisses him with a huff, shrugging his shoulders.

Visibly amused, Sylvain breaks into laughter. His lips pull apart at the seam, revealing a sliver of teeth that has Felix shuddering in remembrance. It had been those same teeth unraveling his heart in ribbons, peeling the skin off his body and baring him to a foreign world.

But that was a long time ago. Things are different now.

“Is that who I think it is?” When Annette wraps herself tightly around his arm, squeezing as close to his side as she can, Felix finally relaxes, muscles easing up with the release of tension. Next to him, she gasps loudly, all theater and glamour. “Is that— _no way_ —Is that the _real_ Margrave Gautier?” Her grin is contagious. It brushes up against Felix’s own mouth even as he wills it away, bounces down to where Sylvain looks up at both of them. 

“Lady Dominic,” his head bows in answer, “it’s a pleasure.” 

There is a moment of silence that passes between them, and then Annette is gunning down the winding staircase, sharp as a bullet passing through the great entrance. Felix doesn’t follow after her, but he _does_ watch her small body launch itself in Sylvain’s embrace. His eyes follow the arc of their bodies while Sylvain twirls and spins them around in circles dizzy. Beside him, the maidens pipe up again, but before they can really get the gossip going, it’s Felix staring them down, shutting them up with only his glare.

“Missed me, did you?”

“Maybe.” A quick quip, Annette goes for a double kill. Turning to look at Felix, her teeth flash white and keen. “Not as much as Felix has!” 

“You wish.” He scoffs mostly at Sylvain.

“Not even a bit?”

“Yeah, Fe, not even _a smidge?”_

“An itty-bit?”

They take turns pleading, eyes big and glassy, lips pressed together in a pout. Felix has to look away which, admittedly, he knows is a mistake, a sign of defeat. All his edges feel a little duller, complacent now that there’s no reason left to be fighting, just to survive. 

“ _See?_ ” Of course, Annette won’t take mercy on him. She might as well be pointing the sweltering spotlight right at his dirty, cheating, little liar face. “Come now. Everyone’s been waiting.” 

Small as she is, there is no winning. Annette hauls Sylvain inside like tugging on a sack of potatoes. Like that, Felix is left watching them disappear, left to count the distance between balcony and ground, between here and the stables, where he could hitch a horse and ride all the way back without stopping. Alas, he decides against it, even though the temptation doesn't fade.

Making his way towards the hall, Felix listens to the excited babble of voices—Annette, most of all, though by no means alone. He can easily pick apart a few others: Mercedes' soft crooning; Ashe’s mildness; _Dimitri._

“Sylvain.” His voice softens, glazing over the high-spirited notes of a laugh Felix would recognize anywhere, anyway, anytime. “It is good to see you, old friend.” 

“Now, _now_ , Your Highness. I’m still plenty young.”

“That you are.” Dimitri pulls him into a hug so tight even Sylvain starts to get lost in his arms. He’s been doing better, _much better,_ now that they’ve settled back into some semblance of normality. Byleth must be helping, too, Felix is sure of it, though it’s hard to tell just how _involved_ they’ve been in their King’s healing process. 

“It’s nice to see you’ve finally decided to join us.” Thank the Goddess for Ingrid saying what Felix has been thinking this whole time. Coming from her, it might actually do some damage. 

“Sorry about that. Been busy cleaning up lately.”

His words lay heavy over them. There is still much work left to be done, years-worth of messes that need cleansing. It’s a reality many are struggling with.

“It’s good that you are here now, Sylvain.” Mercedes hasn’t lost her touch one bit, it seems. “We’ve all missed you terribly.”

“Speak for yourself.” 

“ _Felix!_ ” Okay, so maybe he should’ve shut up. Getting reprimanded by Annette sucks as much now as it always has, maybe even more than usual. “What are you doing skulking over there in the shadows?”

For the second time today, Felix finds himself trapped in the strong grip of her arms around him. She pushes him forward into the circle, having him join the group. Awkwardly, he shifts from foot to foot, stopping only when Ashe saddles up to his side, smile kind as Felix glances over.

“Just like old times, isn’t it?” Except there’s someone missing. Just as he catches himself amidst the thought, Felix hears the creak of the doors opening.

“Your Highness.” Dedue walks up to Dimitri, bowing his head respectfully before turning to the rest of them. 

“Dedue. _Goddess,_ it’s good to see you.” Sylvain claps a hand over his shoulder, gesture at which, _shockingly,_ Dedue cracks a small smile. Beside him, Felix can hear both Ashe and Annette gasp excitedly. 

“Sylvain. Everyone.” 

“We’re all together now!” Annette claps excitedly, hand moving to clasp around Felix’s. She’s quick to grab onto Sylvain as well, pulling both him and Felix close at her side. “It’s been _soooooooo_ long.” 

“Too long without your pretty face.” 

“Sylvain…” 

“Now, before you go and get too excited, mind if I settle in?” He asks with a chuckle. 

“Of course. I have asked for your luggage to be taken up to Felix’s room.”

Instantly, the air thickens around them. Sylvain and Felix both dart eyes over at each other before settling back on an unassuming Dimitri. 

“ _Felix’s_ room?” “ _My_ room?”

“Where else would you be staying?” It’s Ingrid that cocks a curious eyebrow at them, but there’s no doubt everyone’s eyes are on the two of them. 

“What good is being the King of Faerghus if you can’t afford giving everyone their own room?” Despite the click of his tongue, Felix doesn’t sound nearly as exasperated as he should be. _Sure,_ it’s inconvenient, but this wouldn’t be the first time he’s had to share a room with Sylvain. 

"But—I thought—" Poor Dimitri racks his brains over all the sharp points of Felix's scowl, bronze irises burning holes into everything he _thought_ he’d known. " _Oh_."

"You thought _what_ exactly?"

"I thought that you…and Sylvain—that you were together." That Dimitri, hard-headed, dense Dimitri thought he and Sylvain were together is embarrassing, to say the least.

"It's alright, Your Highness." Ashe chimes in with a small laugh. It makes the hair on the back of Felix's neck stand even straighter on end than before. "We all thought they were together."

“Does that mean you’re not?” Annette shoots him a pleading look, one that stifles every protest bubbling up on Felix’s tongue. He can’t—not her. 

"Regardless, it’s not the end of the world. Goddess knows they've done far worse than sleeping together all those years at the academy." With that, Felix decides. Ingrid being in on their little escapades is the last in a string of foul cruelties inflicted upon him today. 

_Just how much do they know?_

“Is that alright with you?” Dimitri’s beaten eye peeks up through thick eyelashes. The look he gives Felix is an apology in and of itself. Anxiously, it darts back and forth between him and somewhere just behind.

It is then that Felix realizes, much to his terror, that a silence emanates thick from over his shoulder. Sylvain, the second fool implicated in this charade, hasn’t uttered a word. With great apprehension, Felix turns slowly, gaze flickering up in a shudder of candle-light. He finds Sylvain staring at him curiously. 

“That’s fine by me.” His expression suffers no change in the wake of those words, but Sylvain is quick to turn the attention away from himself. “Felix? How do you feel about it?” 

As opposed to him, lightning flashes across Felix’s features. His eyebrows pull together, questioning Sylvain for an instant before smoothing back out with a sigh. 

“Whatever. I don’t mind.” He dismisses them all with a wave, making a pointed effort to ignore the way Annette’s face lights up or the way Ashe’s cheeks flush with an understanding Felix does not share. Behind them, Mercedes looks almost proud of him with Ingrid a stark contrast. She shakes her head in obvious irritation. Huffing, Felix turns and walks in the opposite direction. _Of course_ , since they’re sharing a room together, it’s only natural that Sylvain catches up to him. 

“ _Fe_ ,” he tests the nickname on his tongue, continuing only once he’s found the cadence of it to be suitable enough, “you’re not mad at me, are you?”

“Of course not.” Felix snaps a little too quickly, puts a little too much bark and bite in the way he whirls around to face Sylvain. “What do I have to be mad for?” Sylvain still won’t flinch. 

“I don’t know. The girls earlier?”

“ _Tch._ As if.” Cutting things short is Felix’s specialty. This isn’t a conversation he’d feel like having on the best of days. So, it’s simple. Leave it behind and keep moving. Even like this, Sylvain shadows his every move. He hasn’t slowed down once in all their years together. This won’t be the first time. 

Together, they walk mostly in silence, footsteps dulled by the carpet beneath. Felix keeps just a little ways ahead, and Sylvain spares him that much. It isn’t until they’re already inside the bedroom that he speaks. 

“ _Wow._ Nice room.”

 _This_ —This is—

“Are. You. _Serious._ ” Felix has seen the room already. That’s not it. The problem is that there hasn’t been much change, the only difference being Sylvain’s belongings stacked neatly next to the bed. 

_Yes_. _Bed,_ not _beds._

“Must we also sleep together?” Sylvain can practically see the smoke rising out of Felix’s head. Irritation crackle in his voice.

“ _There, there,_ Fe. It’s not all bad.” What he doesn’t expect is Sylvain’s arms winding around his waist, pulling him flush against his chest. His lungs hitch on the high note of a gasp, the muscles of his stomach flexing under Sylvain’s touch. The ultimate betrayal, Felix’s body settles there so naturally. “You gotta remember, they think we’re dating.” 

“We’re not!” 

“Changing that is easy enough.”

It's then that Felix freezes. His blood runs cold while every other part of him heats up uncomfortably, skin tingling beneath the warmth. 

“ _What—”_

Except, Sylvain’s letting go of him now, taking everything Felix has ever wanted away.

“Whoa, I was just joking. There’s no need for that face.”

 _Joking._ He was _just_ joking. Yeah, alright. Okay. 

Whatever the expression Felix is wearing, it’s not disappointment. It’s anger. Flaming, rabid, full-blown anger. There are two steps between him and Sylvain, a distance easily cut short if only Felix were to move. Thing is, he’d like to wait at least another day before committing murder.

Even if Sylvain is making it impossible for him. 

“Mind yourself! Joking about such things…”

“Sorry.” Dismissed so easily, Felix can feel his insides brewing to a tempest. Outside, the skies are clear, but inside, everything darkens to black until sucker-punching Sylvain is the last thought that crosses his mind. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you sound almost disappointed.”

“…”

That Sylvain can say such a thing to his face like it’s nothing _—_ that he can just out Felix so shamelessly _—_ suffice to say, Felix feels like he’s been hit over the head with a mallet. 

“I’m going out.” He states simply, halfway across the room by the time Sylvain catches up to his words. Before he can make an attempt at saying anything, Felix is altogether outside the castle, tracking heavy steps across the pavement until that, too, comes to an end. 

First the frosted gardens, then the stables; both fade into the distance behind him, large fields opening wide before Felix’s eyes. The wilderness of Faerghus has always been a stone’s throw away, and the capital is no exception. Here, the woods grow thick, fencing in the castle grounds away from the rest of the world. Like this, Felix feels as though he can breathe a little easier, like he’s put enough space between himself and _the bane of his existence._

Imagine his surprise when he realizes that such an idea isn't original at all. Gracelessly, he walks over, stopping no less than a few paces from his companion. For a short time, neither of them speaks, but that doesn’t last long.

“Must be hard.” When Ingrid starts, it’s almost like she isn’t even talking to him. Her eyes don’t seek Felix out from where he’s hiding inside his skin, content to watch the wild horses graze peacefully. “Ending up whipped this badly for someone like Sylvain.”

“Yeah, _real hard_. Almost as hard as having to deal with everyone and their damn dog wanting a piece of my girlfriend.” He can’t resist barking back at her. “Tell me, how _is_ Dorothea doing these days?”

“At least I have a girlfriend.” 

“Don’t swing that way.” 

“Right now, you’re not swinging any way.” Guess anybody can learn new tricks nowadays. Ingrid, too, seems proud of the way she’s brandishing that tongue of hers against someone as notoriously difficult as Felix. 

He’ll concede. _For now._

“Felix, aren’t you getting tired?” 

“Tired of what?” It takes every bone in his body to stop him from parroting back an _“Aren’t you getting tired of pestering me?”_

“If you and Sylvain really haven’t been dating all this time, what _have_ you been doing?”

 _Nothing._ They’ve done nothing.

The end of the war brought with it the fall of the Adrestian empire, and that brought upon them the end of all the screwing around they’d been doing. It was the perfect excuse to let the dead rest and move forward with what remained of their own lives. As Sylvain rode deeper into Faerghus, his silhouette disappearing across the many colours of a dawning sky, Felix made his peace with the darkness of the night. He wasn’t ready to reconsider the possibility of something else, of a day spent in the light of the sun, future stretched endlessly before them.

“I don’t know.” 

“To think I’d have to be the one giving you advice about such things.”

“Then don’t!” His voice whips loudly, but it had been Ingrid’s words that slapped searing across his cheek. “Nobody asked you to.”

“How could you? That would mean doing something right for once.” She sighs sharply, breath heavy when Ingrid inhales as deep as her lungs will allow the air to settle. “Listen, Felix, you’ve both waited out an entire war together. This is hardly the time to shy away from each other.” 

Nothing else remains to be said. Felix won’t reply, and Ingrid relents with just that much. A moment later, she makes to leave without anybody daring to stop her, Felix least of all. This is the peace and quiet he’s been wanting all this time, and though everything _does_ quiet down without Ingrid around, peace is the last thing he finds. 

By the time he’s leaving, the moon sits full against the sky. It doesn’t look nearly as large as it does in the Northernmost parts of the continent, but even Felix must give credit where credit is due. Peppered in clusters around it, stars breathe in glimmers of silver and gold, lighting from one end of the sky to the other. 

The sight of it is stunning. He doesn’t stop to look at it a second time. 

Dinner passes quietly, as much as it can when you’re in the company of old friends and even older acquaintances, but Felix keeps to his own side, replies when asked, quiets when they move to other topics. It’s entirely too easy falling back in line with everyone, like they’re still at the academy, still playing at being grownups.

Next to him, Sylvain looks and acts every bit the Margrave he’s had to be. Conversation flows when everyone is trying to catch a little bit of light, to be the focus of his world if only briefly. Felix thinks he understands the urge, but his self-control kicks into overdrive, keeping him away from making a fool of himself in front of everyone. 

Trouble starts when it’s dwindled down to just the two of them, sitting behind closed doors, staring at the _one_ bed they’re supposed to be sharing.

“You. Right side.” Felix leaves no room for argument, but plenty between them when he’s already sitting down on the bed.

“ _Fe,_ you know I like sleeping on the left side…” Sylvain’s pout doesn’t stop him mid-step, but the hand gripping Felix’s arm does. _Is that so?_ He doesn’t remember, but as someone who, quite frankly, couldn’t care less about what side he sleeps on, the solution seems simple enough. 

“Fine.” 

“Aren’t you going to change?”

“…” Okay, maybe he didn’t think that far. “No.” 

“You’re sure about that?”

“…yes.“ Neither of them sounds convinced, but Sylvain doesn’t press. 

Felix lays down, pulling the blankets over him with an indignant huff. His eyes are already closed by the time he hears the rustling of clothes, and Felix _doesn’t_ peek at Sylvain as he unbuttons his shirt or when he tugs his breeches off, leaving him naked except for the briefs and a casual shirt he throws on. As he makes his way to his side, the _right_ side of the bed, Felix squeezes his eyes back shut, but it's not enough to numb him to the feeling of the mattress sinking beside him, the feeling of wild warmth that emanates from Sylvain’s body, or the thick scent of pine emanating off his skin. 

A few seconds spent in silence, their breaths answering to one another’s call, and then Felix is flipping over every layer of cotton and silk between them, clothes included. 

“ _Oh_ , for Goddess' sake! Get over here, will you?” 

When he wakes up the next day, it’s to the wet warmth of a muscled chest pressed against his back. The morning sweetness of the breath feathering over the back of his neck has Felix sinking with dread. He jolts upright, but before making any notable headway, the weight of Sylvain’s arm laid down his chest pushes Felix back into bed. Not even the slap of a hand across his forehead is strong enough to snap him out of this nightmare. 

In the end, he storms out of the bedroom, barely half-dressed and poorly so, his buttons crooked, boots laced loose. In his rush, Felix all but slams the doors shut in Sylvain's face, Sylvain who still won't get off his back, who follows him closer than a newborn puppy would. 

It certainly doesn't help that _everyone_ knows, and when Felix thinks _"everyone"_ that means _everyone._

A pair of maids happens upon them before spinning right around and walking back to where they’d first come from, carried away by the harsh winds of their whispers. Even the attendant set to welcome them into the dining hall for breakfast stutters when announcing the arrival of one _"D-Duke Fraldarius and Margrave G-Gautier"_. And, if Felix needed any more proof, he most definitely can't deny the way Annette saddles next to him, or how Ashe's cheeks sparkle beneath a flush bolder than his own had been the previous night. Ingrid clears her throat as soon as she sees them, dignifying neither of them with so much as a _hello_. 

The worst part? Sylvain isn't even _trying_ to hide it. 

He's as bright as a handful of freshly-picked daisies, lighting up at every greeting, every little bit of attention pouring over him like mountain runoff. Looking away from him has always been challenging, but Felix finds that his eyes burn with how much brighter Sylvain seems this morning. 

“Felix, congratulations.” It takes Mercedes’ hand over the small of his back for him to understand just how alarming the situation has become. 

Following breakfast, they all split up. With Dimitri locked up inside his office for the rest of the day, Dedue and Mercedes linger behind in the kitchens. Their combined culinary skills are enough to tackle this year’s grand feast _—_ worthy of a king, but in celebration of a friend. Ingrid, Ashe, and Sylvain ( _thank Goddess)_ are charged with decorating, all too eager to deck the halls out. As for Felix, he has Annette to thank for volunteering the two of them for a last minute supply run, which is really just a glorified way of saying she’s on _Felix-watch._

“Isn’t it nice to be back again?” She beams, her feet light as petals while she weaves from stall to stall impatiently. This is how Felix ends up carrying his weight in shopping bags. 

“Mhm.” He hums, reaching to add Annette’s latest purchase to the rest of the loot. His hand goes to pinch her cheek almost naturally, natural like the grin he flashes at her. “It’s nice seeing _you.”_

“Felix…” 

A second later, “Is this it?” 

“Almost!” Transgressions already forgotten, she’s quick to catch up with her thoughts, grabbing Felix and tugging him along. “Have you bought a gift for Sylvain yet?” 

_There he is._ Felix supposes too much time has passed since he’d last thought of Sylvain (only ten minutes ago). When he doesn’t reply, Annette gasps dryly.

“I _knew_ it! You haven’t!” Why does she sound so accusatory if she already knows? Felix clicks his tongue, weary of divulging anything Annette can use against him. Still, it’s no surprise that she finds something anyway, taking his silence as an invitation to press on. “You are being so stubborn about this!” 

“I can’t be stubborn if there is nothing to be stubborn about.”

As soon as Annette’s rolling her eyes at him, Felix thinks it looks out of place on that small, otherwise cheery face of hers. He shrugs the odd feeling of being treated with his own medicine off his shoulders, letting Annette pull him away.

“How about we wander around some more and you tell me if anything jumps out at you?” She continues even after Felix huffs his dissatisfaction. “Tell me about what Sylvain likes, will you?” 

It’s a good question. What _does_ Sylvain like? 

Some time ago, Felix might have felt more confident in his reply. Now, the answer comes out easily, a little less ashamed, but he’s no longer sure he’s right.

“He likes art.” After too long a silence, he states simply. 

“Fine art?”

“Mhm.” 

Annette considers the possibilities. 

“How about a book?”

“Too easy.” 

“A painting?”

“Too desperate.” 

“D _—Desperate?_ _”_ The tapping of her shoes against the pavement grows frantic as Annette throws Felix a look that has him instantly averting his gaze. “ _Fine._ Give me something else to work with.”

“He likes…looking good.” This time, Felix tries a little harder, and it still somehow comes out more flat than first expected. Annette seems pleased nonetheless. She perks up, the fur of her shawl ruffling up like feathers around her neck. 

“Ah! Fashion!” Excitedly, she runs over to one of the stands nearest to them. Spread across its surface, an assortment of jewelry and other such accessories catches her eye twinkling. “I know! What do you think of a brooch?”

She holds a number of specimens up for him to scrutinize, intricate metalwork laced with beads of a million shines. Each one is promptly vetoed, designs sometimes too delicate, at others too heavy, or just too kitschy for someone with tastes as high-end as Sylvain’s. 

“Alright. Does Sylvain have his ears pierced at all?” She makes an attempt to redirect his attention to the wide selection of earrings, but something about the implications has Felix wincing. 

“No. _Definitely not_.”

“Okay, _okay._ I like a good challenge.” So does he, but Felix is entirely out of his depths where Annette has him dragged out to shore. This isn’t _—_ he’s not good at this, never has been. Lost, Felix takes a look around him, watching the merchants, their merchandise. Nothing seems good enough for Sylvain, _Sylvain_ who deserves the world and not whatever shitty gift Felix is about to buy for him. 

It’s on that harsh note that his mind screeches to a halt. 

This vendor’s setup seems different from all the rest, smaller. A girl, maybe even younger than Felix, watches people walk by with a shy smile. At times, her eyes drift under the counter, hands moving diligently. When Felix approaches her suddenly, she perks up, and he notices the wooden hoop laid flat across her lap, needle held between the fine points of her fingers. 

“Hello, Sir! Can I help you?”

“Were these handmade? By yourself?” A number of scarves lay unfurled towards him, fringes tickling his skin as he brushes a hand across them. One of them catches his eye right away; a thick, woolen muffler of a deep red, garnet so pleasing to look at. Knitted into its marrow is a series of thick cables, so full Felix warms just at one glance. 

“Yes, Sir!” She answers enthusiastically. That’s as far as she makes it though, too timid to push her luck any further. 

“ _Mhm._ Could you embroider it?”

Only a second later, she replies breathlessly. 

“Of course! Is it for a special someone?” 

“Something like that.” 

Some time later, Annette finally comes looking for him. Her voice finds him first, heartfelt when she smiles kindly. 

“Felix, it’s beautiful. He’ll love it. I’m sure of it.”

The walk back is spent comfortably at Annette’s side, her chatter filling in the gaps between Felix’s own sparse replies. If she notices how tight his hand is clenched around that one neatly-packed gift box, she makes no mention of it, either out of kindness or because she’s still gloating. 

As far as he can see, Felix doesn’t think the castle looks any different from the outside. The walkways have been cleared of any straying snow fallen overnight, windows warm with candle-light, but other than that, it’s hard to say whether or not Sylvain managed to distract both Ingrid and Ashe. 

What _has_ changed is the overall volume in noise. 

Felix can easily pick out Ingrid’s scolding, lost as it is beneath the low rumbling of chuckling; Ashe, too, peels with laughter, hurried as he darts between bushes to hide; and all of it ends with Sylvain. Upright, he stands tall, shadow stretching long behind him. His lips are pulled thin, shaking with mirth, and in his hands, a snowball. Sylvain juggles it effortlessly, deep in thought when he seeks out his next target. Ingrid is closer, out in the open where she stands pelted in white. Now, it makes sense why Ashe is hiding.

“Please, Sylvain. Don’t do it!” He pleads, glancing from his hiding spot cautiously. Despite his words, Ashe’s voice doesn’t sound concerned in the least. Felix might even venture to say he’s egging Sylvain on. 

“ _Awh_ , don’t be so stingy. Promise I’ll be gentle.”

The inflection of those words drags Felix's soul free of his body. His eyes roll involuntarily, though he finds it plenty appropriate when he has to hear Sylvain pull these same kinds of flirtatious lines in everyday settings. 

“Promise-promise?”

“Promise-promise.” 

Moments later, Ashe’s head comes up first, followed by the rest of him as he rises slowly. Then, right when he reaches full height, Sylvain swings his arm out with none of the force of a _“gentle”_ throw. The snowball he’d been holding seconds ago looks more like ice as it hurls through the air, wheezing past Ashe when he rabbits back down. Felix quickly realizes it doesn’t only _look_ like ice, but feels just like it, too. It bursts upon impact, exploding in a condensed flurry over Felix’s face with so much force that he recoils back on one leg.

“ _Ah._ ” 

Sylvain blinks, everyone else taking turns to gawk at Felix. Water drips down the sharp line of his jaw, smaller pieces of snow trickling over his chest. Revealed underneath is that signature scowl Felix has made his own over the course of his life. 

“I am so _so_ sorry.” Suddenly, Sylvain is right there, fluttering fretful around him. He reaches for Felix to clean him up, hands unbearably hot where they make contact with his skin; Sylvain’s second mistake of the night. 

A knee-jerk reaction, Felix kicks him off-balance and he comes toppling down. In a breath, Sylvain is on his back, Felix straddling his hips and _pelting_ him with so much snow Sylvain almost chokes on it as he’s laughing.

“ _Goddess, Fe,_ please! Didn’t I apologize?”

“An apology won’t be enough. You’d better repent!” But Felix is smiling just as hard. His face starts hurting right away from all those unused muscles being put to work. Soon after, another snowball finds him, this time smashing against the back of his head. When he looks back, Annette simply shrugs amused.

On their account, the banquet is pushed back by a couple of hours, baths having been drawn up for more than half of the attendees. Once they’ve warmed up and dried, each of the now-notorious snowballers takes their seat at the table without much fuss. 

Everyone listens carefully as Dimitri toasts the beginning of tonight’s feast. He thanks them for their support over the years, for placing their faith in him when he’d been least deserving of it. His eyes run glassy only a few sentences in, and Felix turns to look somewhere else. Dimitri doesn’t need his scrutiny, not anymore. Perhaps he’d never needed it in the first place, but what’s done is done. All Felix can do is try harder. 

Like the night before, they indulge in light conversation, food so delicious the table often falls silent for minutes on end. Even Felix finds himself in higher spirits, a chill within him thawed. Sylvain and him keep close to each other, before and after they move over towards the large stone hearth keeping the hall toasty. There, the group breaks apart into smaller factions, leaving the two of them alone.

They’re seated to the far side of the chamber, away from prying eyes. This here is perhaps as good a time as any for Felix to part ways with Sylvain’s gift.

“I got you something.” He blurts abruptly. No preamble, no foreplay, just Felix in all his graceless glory. 

“For me?” The surprise in Sylvain’s voice is nothing if not annoying. “You didn’t have to…” 

“Well, I did.” A short trek to the beautifully ornamented tree set up earlier today, Felix returns with the secret he’s been keeping for a few hours too many. “Here. Open it.” 

“Do I have a choice?” Sylvain laughs relaxed, already working the bow undone beneath his nimble fingers. 

“No. And if you don’t like it _—”_ If he doesn’t like it, _what then?_ “Well, you don’t have a choice then either.” 

“Don’t worry, _Fe._ Anything you could give me; I’ll love it all the same.” 

Felix watches Sylvain out of the corner of his eye, worriedly glancing back and forth between the roaring flames of the fire and the blazes of Sylvain’s own curls. His face catches onto a new light, eyes flaring open for an instant before his lips fall open. Carefully, Sylvain removes the scarf from its box, laying it flat across his lap, and his hands move to inspect every stretch of the fabric, stopping just short of its hem. 

_For Sylvain_. Threaded with gold, his name reads brilliantly against the red canvas. Sylvain traces himself, mouthing that foreign name quietly, and he finds himself within Felix. 

“Hey, I was thinking.” He starts, then stops, breathes once, twice, and again before continuing. “About what you said. I also got you a gift.”

“You didn’t have to…” 

“I know. Don’t get too excited though.” At this, his voice falls a little lower. “I’m not sure if you’ll like it.” 

But before Felix can protest, Sylvain’s lips come down upon his own. They’ve kissed before, enough times that Felix has lost track, but it’s never been quite like this. Sylvain moves slowly, covering Felix's mouth breath by breath. He doesn’t push, doesn’t rush anything between them, only kisses Felix to the spot where he’s sitting.

“Let’s get married.” 

_“Sylvain—”_

“I’m serious, Fe. Let’s get married.”

Somehow, hearing it a second time doesn’t help the storm inside him let up. Leave it to Sylvain to find a way to turn Felix’s entire world upside down in less than _seventy-two hours._

“No.” 

Sylvain’s face pales. He visibly deflates, shoulders slumping against his body like deadweight. A number of emotions flash over his features, from confusion to fear to dread and horror. 

“Not now. Not like this.” Felix explains as gently as he can make himself sound. His hand reaches for one of Sylvain’s, lacing their fingers together one by one until he’s sure his arm would come free of his body before letting go of Sylvain. “If we’re going to get married, we’ll do it right. So, ask me again another time.” 

It’s hard to tell if his explanation is adequate, but _by the Goddess_ , Felix is trying harder than he’s ever had to. This is everything he’s ever wanted, but it doesn’t feel right to rush something he’s sure ought to be treated with utmost care. Sylvain deserves better than that. 

“Yeah, okay.” Eventually, colour returns to his skin, and Sylvain is nodding fervently, hoping to convince himself first and Felix second. “Okay, I can do that.”

“Good. Don’t keep me waiting, alright?”

“I won’t, _Fe._ Not this time.” 

  
  


Years later, little has changed. With Sylvain wrapped around him just as snugly as his engagement ring’s band around his finger, Felix feels at peace. In a few days, they’ll be back in Fhirdiad for another one of Dimitri’s birthdays, but instead of arriving on their own, Felix and Sylvain will ride through the gates of the castle sharing a steed, a marriage, a life together. 

“I’ve decided.” 

“Hm?” Felix coos, rubbing his nose along the underside of Sylvain’s jaw. 

“I’ve decided what I want.”

“And?”

He can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks, warm sun sinking into the crown of his head as Sylvain kisses him there, gently. 

"Marry me, _Fe."_

And, this time, it feels right. Felix doesn't wait for his breath to return to him before replying _yes._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the ever-lovely [Cha](https://twitter.com/akhikosanada) for organizing this wonderful event!
> 
> As for me, you can follow my (vague) existence on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/peachieyums), where I'm sometimes good and post fic regularly ;u;


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